The Best Kept Secret.

I’ve always felt different. That’s what people usually start with when they discover something life changing about themselves, don’t they?

 

I wish I was one of those people who just knew they were different. But I never did.

 

I have fond memories of my childhood. I grew up living a seemingly normal life. I had two parents. Two siblings. Even a cute fluffy dog. I never knew anything different other than the life I had known.

 

As a child, I had a very vivid imagination. I could become lost in my own world for hours. I would turn on my torch light to write made-up stories about mythical creatures, until I exhausted myself to sleep.

 

My mind never stopped. I always thought this was because I had so many creative thoughts all at once. I never really learned how to switch it off. I began to understand that writing was my escapism and the only way I could cope with so many ideas floating in my mind. This would be the first clue that I was different, but even then, this was my normal. 

 

I had found my escapism from the chaos of the outside world, and I was happy. When I craved to be around people again, and I would find my father tinkering about in our garage (or, his own man-cave). I always admired him for finding his happiness in fixing and building things. He built my bedroom furniture, the two story cubby house in our backyard, and even a treehouse so I could write my stories away from distractions. 

 

He was like me, creative in his own way. This made me feel even more normal, that I had a dad that understood my need for creativity and solace.

 

At school, life began to change. There was less time for creativity. No special places for me to quiet my mind. Being in a room for almost 6 hours a day made me feel restless. I had no patience to sit still. Teachers would tell me, if only you could sit still, and those words never really left my mind.

 

It was only until first grade, that my new teacher realised I wasn’t ‘naughty’, as teachers had labelled me. I was merely bored by paper work. I am forever grateful that I met this teacher, who encouraged my curiosity to learn in my own unique way.

 

Her name was Ms Robinson. She had kind eyes, and a warm smile. She reminded me of a grandmother, nurturing and understanding. Ms Robinson gave me my first chapter book, ‘The Horse Whisperer’, from her very own bookshelf.

 

I devoured this book and savoured every word. I couldn’t believe that books like this existed only for adults. I read every book from her bookshelf. I felt like the luckiest little girl alive to find other worlds at the grips of my fingers.

 

My school reports would note that I was gifted, but too distractible and unfocused in class. In truth, I was often day dreaming, or thinking about made-up worlds that I could write about. Everything else seemed like a waste of time.

 

As I grew older, I found that there were very few teachers like Ms Robinson. Some teachers noticed the signs that I was an unusual child, as written in my school reports. Others wrote vague questions. But none of them ever asked the right questions.

 

At the age of six years old, someone had finally asked the right questions. A lady with wide brimmed glasses glasses came into my classroom and called me to her office. I was terrified that I’d done something wrong. I wondered if I was being taken to the principals office.

 

I sat in a big chair, fidgeting nervously. The lady with oved-sized glasses told me not to worry. There were dozens of children’s pictures all over the wall behind her, so I relaxed a little more. She asked a few questions about myself. What were my interests? Why did I like to move around the room? I didn’t know how to answer. This was just how I was. I didn’t think I was any different to other children.

 

The lady with big glasses showed me a few cue cards with strange shapes on them. I answered, in my quiet-like voice. She nodded, wrote down something on a notepad, and took me back to my class.

 

I continued my maths paper that I had been working on before. It was as though nothing ever happened. It never clicked that this event was odd. 

 

After I told my mother about this meeting, her face went pale. The next week she pulled me out of school and I began at a new school, further away. Even then, I never asked any questions.

 

As years went by, this strange memory faded and eventually forgotten.

 

As I began high school, I was still the blue-eyed day dreamer as before. I struggled to focus in class, especially on subjects that I didn’t care for. But somehow, I managed to blend in. I had a lot of friends, and no one seemed to ask any more questions. 

 

No one looked too closely at me, and I became undetected. I had kept a secret from everyone around me. I was struggling to cope with the pressure. I often forgot to eat, which turned into an eating disorder.

By 17 years old, my worst fears came true when I went into cardiac arrest. It was my last year of school, to add even more pressure. Many teachers told me to just give up. One even told me that with my poor health, I may never achieve any of my dreams.

 

With these words as fuel, I somehow finished high school, and I even managed to finish a diploma and a Bachelor degree with Honours. I also owned a photography business. I moved in with my sweet fiancé.

 

Now a fully qualified teacher, I had entirely new pressures to cope with. To keep up with deadlines and meetings, I drank copious amounts of tea and coffee. The words, “If I only I could try a little harder” still haunted me. I worked myself to the bone, and yet I felt like there were never enough hours in the day to achieve everything.

 

This was my life for a long time. It was only until just shortly after my 26th birthday that everything came crashing down. Or, quite literally, I crumbled to the floor. I could not stop crying. I must have cried everyday for 3 months. I didn’t know how to help myself.

 

I spent thousands of dollars on doctors who assumed it was a mental breakdown. I was simply “overworked” – mentally exhausted.

 

And yet, this still didn’t explain why I couldn’t focus, or finish tasks, or why I felt so unmotivated. I realized I had felt like this ever since I could remember. Why hadn’t I noticed before?!

 

It wasn’t until I met a doctor – one of the best in Melbourne – that a lifetime of questions became answered. His office reminded me of the woman with big glasses. The strange woman who asked questions. I told the doctor about this. It was as though I was remembering a dream that I’d lost for years.

 

This doctor seemed particularly interested in hearing about this peculiar woman. He investigated into my past medical files. After an hour, he explained that this woman with glasses was a school psychologist. He handed me my file. I could just read the scrawled writing, which read; “diagnosis: mild ADHD”.

 

My heart stopped for a minute. It was as though he had switched a light on for me.

 

The doctor sat beside me and took my hand. “Congratulations, you have ADHD.”

 

At first, I wasn’t sure whether I should be celebrating or fuming.

 

This was a secret that was hidden from me for exactly 20 years.

 

My mind whirled like a storm of emotions. I could never begin to explain the hurt that I felt in that moment. I had so many questions. Why hadn’t anyone ever told me? Why was my family in denial?

 

I never found out those answers. 

 

Instead, I chose to celebrate my ADHD. Overtime, I began to love all those quirks that countless teachers told me were flaws. What I had yearned for all those years – acceptance – I had found in myself.

 

It wasn’t easy at first. I had to make up for decades of feeling shamed. I’d lost almost all my self-confidence.

 

Two years on, I am now finally reaching all my dreams. I’m a teacher at a private school. I teach many children with ADHD, and I know that this is my life’s calling, to give these students the support they deserve. I teach them to be proud of who they are. And in turn, they teach me to be be proud of who I am today.

 

I had waited 20 years to find out a secret that would change my life forever. And as it turned out, it was the best kept secret I could ever imagine.

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